Page 51 of Savage Games

I prowl forward, my massive wolf dwarfing theirs, gold eyes burning in the darkness.I was big before.Now, I tower over them, and they sense my undiluted rage.

One of them, a lean, dark-coated wolf, hesitates, ears flicking back, questioning the wisdom of their ill-thought-out plan.

I’m not a wolf slinking off in defeat.Far from it.

Grayson, the biggest and boldest, a wolf I’ve seen practising in the training area, lunges first, and the fight begins.

I catch him mid-leap, jaws clamping down on his scruff, twisting his body and throwing him hard into a tree.

He yelps as he hits the ground, scrambling up just as the others close in on me.Teeth flash in the darkness.Claws rake through fur, and the bitter tang of spilled blood fills the air.

Not my blood, though.

Years of surviving as a rogue have honed my fighting skills beyond what these pack-raised wolves can comprehend.They fight by rules, by training patterns drilled into them since they were pups.I fight by instinct, by necessity.The difference is immediately apparent and glorious.

My wolf channels all of his pent-up anger and frustration on teaching these pups a lesson.All I wanted to do was go for a run, but this was much better.

The second wolf dives for my flank, but I pivot, meeting him head-on.My shoulder slams into him with enough force to send him skidding.He snaps his jaws, aiming for my throat, but I duck low, lunging under his attack and catching his leg in my teeth.I whip my head, sending him sprawling on the leaf-covered dirt.

The third wolf takes his opening and hits me broadside, knocking me momentarily off balance.A bite bounces off my hind leg, sharp but not penetrating.I twist violently, shaking him off before his teeth can sink any deeper.

Grayson’s back up, circling, blood dripping from his muzzle.The other two gather themselves, panting, tails flicking with uncertainty, waiting for a window of opportunity they’re not sure will come.At least, not without incurring a nasty injury that will put their own chances in the competition in jeopardy.

I’m done playing, and they know it.

The forest around us grows eerily quiet.Even the nocturnal creatures have fallen silent, sensing the predators in their midst.The pale moonlight filters through the branches, casting dappled patterns across our fur as we circle each other.

I rush them, a blur of fur and force, and hit Grayson first, taking him to the ground and driving my weight into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.His claws scramble for purchase, but I hold him down, snarling inches from his throat until he goes limp, eyes rolling back in submission.

The others don’t come to his aid.Instead, they stand back and watch, waiting to see if I’ll end their friend and then turn on them.The idea is tempting, but deep down, I know I’ll be helping Brad, giving him exactly what I want if I get myself removed from the Games.It would play right into his hands to have me forced off Dean’s territory and leave my mate alone with him.

I’d be shooting myself in the foot, and I certainly wouldn’t be helping Naomi.

Eyeing up the two panting, injured wolves, I let out a low warning growl, stepping forward, making myself even bigger.

Don’t mess with me, I warn.Leave.

I could kill them.The thought passes through my mind with cold clarity.One quick snap of my jaws, and Grayson would never move again.There would be consequences, banishment at the very least, but in this moment, with adrenaline coursing through me and their attack still fresh, part of me wants them to know the true price of challenging someone much stronger so recklessly.

The youngest of the small gang doesn’t need to be told twice.He turns tail and runs, hoping to make it back before I finish his friend and catch up to him.Smart.

I won’t chase him, even though my wolf’s desire to hunt is strong.

Instead, I stand over Grayson, teeth bared, daring him to move.The whole forest is thick with the scent of blood and submission.It’s over, but my wolf doesn’t want it to be.Not when I have questions about what suddenly made them escalate from taunts and jeers to destroying my property, and now, a fight in wolf form.

The animal inside me wants more.

He wants to finish it, to make sure they never try this again.He’s sick of being pushed around and treated like shit.My vision tunnels, breaths ragged as I lean in, letting the last one know just how close he is to dying and to seeing what a feral rogue really looks like.

The taste of blood is sharp on my tongue as the thrill of domination rushes through my veins.This is what they fear, this moment when the civilized veneer falls away and the wolf takes control.I feel the primitive joy of victory, the surge of power that comes from proving, once again, that I am not to be trifled with.

But beneath that primal satisfaction is something darker, more troubling.The knowledge that with each display of strength, I’m confirming their worst suspicions about rogues.I prove that I am what they fear most.And the danger that my actions could take me away from my mate.

Then a growl rumbles through the trees.Not a challenge.A warning.From one of the few wolves in this place that my beast will listen to.

Blake Steel’s massive black wolf steps into the clearing, his gaze sharp as ice, and his presence, commanding enough that my wolf hesitates, even though his desire to finally stand up to these bullies is strong.

Stand down.

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